


Hold Your Breath

by anupalya



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel fails at cleaning carpets, Domestic Fluff, Father Figures, First Kiss, Hiccups, Human Castiel, Light Angst, M/M, Mother Hen Dean, POV Castiel, frickin' powerful hiccups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 19:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12217371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anupalya/pseuds/anupalya
Summary: Castiel has the hiccups.





	Hold Your Breath

**Author's Note:**

> So...I had the hiccups...and I wrote a Destiel fic about it.
> 
> Also, fear not! I am working on the next chapter of Breaking Rule Four! It may take some time, though, so hang tight. In the meantime, have some fluff!

It _wouldn’t stop._

In all the time Castiel had spent human, he had suffered numerous indignities that would make his siblings’ grace quiver with disgust – urination and defecation, of course, were the first and most obvious instances that sprung to mind, but Castiel had been far more inconvenienced by such numerous additional annoyances as the way his sweaty thighs stuck together on hot days, the itch that formed at the base of his oily hair after too many days without a shower, and the smell the emanated from under his arms after half a day without washing or deodorant.  These phenomena plagued Castiel far worse than any bathroom activities, because (with a few notable exceptions that had involved eating what expired foods he could find in various dumpsters while homeless) he had at least SOME control over the latter – with the former, it was a constant battle to maintain composure despite the involuntary, uncontrollable responses of his all-too-human body.

Jack had brought Castiel back – his grace had been unsalvageable, but the essence of _Castiel,_ as it had been proven through numerous Falls, was not contingent on the presence of grace.  Not that anyone really minded terribly.  Jack was thrilled that his father-figure was around to show him the ropes to…well…everything, Sam was ecstatic that his surrogate brother was back from the dead, and Dean…

Dean was vacillating alarming between falling even closer into Castiel’s orbit and withdrawing as if in fear of reproach.  Castiel’s resurrection had been a whirlwind of tears, hugs, and _cuddles_ , only to be followed by bouts of head-down, eyes-averted, hunched-shoulders withdrawal.

Sam was irritated, Castiel knew.  Late at night, after reading Jack’s bedtime story and tucking him in with a kiss to the forehead, he would hear the brothers’ voices drifting up, Sam’s tone so clear that Castiel could easily picture its accompanying facial expression.  He was fairly certain Dean called it “bitchface,” but he wasn’t quite sure why.  Nevertheless, various phrases would float up the stairs as Castiel crossed the hall back to his bedroom every night, phrases like “another chance,” “know he feels the same,” and “don’t care that he’s a guy.”

Castiel wasn’t stupid.  He knew exactly how Dean longed for him – his longing had been a pressing ache, tightening around his chest for years, as insistent and unrelenting as the most vulgar of the Righteous Man’s more verbal prayers.  He was furthermore aware of Sam’s thoughts on the subject (Sam wasn’t nearly as good at hiding his eyerolls as he thought).  However, after eight years in the acquaintance of Dean Winchester, Castiel also knew just how deeply the strains of self-loathing, fear of intimacy, and internalized homophobia ran.

As far as the self-loathing and fear of intimacy went, Castiel was fairly certain that they had begun to unravel during the weeks after his resurrection; enforced domesticity with a powerful being that had quickly imprinted on all three men like a duckling to its mother did wonders for one’s self esteem.  Jack’s adoring face when Dean had gently placed a secondhand guitar from a thrift shop in town into his hands and demonstrated correct finger placement had coaxed from him a smile that was more subdued, yet no less brilliant in its joy.  Castiel supposed that such innocent love would be good for anyone’s self-image.  Indeed, it was difficult to berate himself for his numerous failings throughout the years when Jack’s sleepy _love you’s_ warmed him so thoroughly from the inside-out.

Still, Castiel knew that something was holding Dean back from acting on the desires that had so radiated off of his being – as an angel, Castiel was naturally attuned to all forms of prayer, consciously made or otherwise, but even as a human, it was impossible to miss.

A great deal of Dean’s hesitancy to pursue a relationship, he attributed to the pain of the loss of Mary.  Castiel had rarely been in the presence of both Mary and Dean at the same time, but he had been peripherally aware of the tension that had only just begun to be resolved when Lucifer dragged her through the portal.  Jack was as of yet unable to consciously replicate the previous effects of his instinctual magic and reopen the portal, and both Sam and Dean, in a show of bittersweet maturity, refused to take out their frustration on Jack.

The internalized homophobia was a bit more difficult to crack.  From what Castiel had been able to deduce over the years, John Winchester had had a very specific idea of how his children should behave.  Castiel assumed that Dean was wary of what John’s opinion of his sexuality might have been, although Sam had privately confided that he was fairly certain that John wouldn’t have cared one way or the other as long as Dean could still kill monsters and protect his little brother.  Nevertheless, Dean had picked up a convoluted impression of masculinity from his father that seemed to exude heteronormativity like a strong odor.  Castiel found it absurd that so many humans seemed to associate a certain brand of masculinity with heterosexuality, but he acknowledged the power of such enforced assumptions on an individual’s outlook and self-identity.

Within the last few years, however, Castiel had noticed something of a change in Dean’s hypermasculine persona.  Indeed, it had seemed that the domesticity afforded by both the bunker and their little house on the shore allowed Dean to relax somewhat, a few softer edges appearing in his demeanor – a more easy smile for Sammy, a quick kiss on the forehead for Jack, an arm thrown over Cas’s shoulder as they watched TV from the couch…but other times, Dean seemed to catch himself in his behavior and recoil, as if terrified of reprimand.  When no insults or accusations would fall, and with Sam and Jack clearly basking in the extra affection, Dean would slowly relax again, making eye contact and straightening his stance.  He would once again take to bumping shoulders with Castiel, casually resting a hand on his lower back, and otherwise quietly offering small touches as if reassuring himself that Castiel was truly alive and well.  So it had gone for the past nine weeks, with Dean still occasionally closing off in fear, but always returning and becoming more open and more intimate in his affection for his friend.

As an angel, Castiel was a being of faith; as a human, that had not changed.  His faith in his Father had been replaced by faith in his friends, while his faith in the Host had been surmounted by faith in his own abilities and moral direction.  Castiel knew that his relationship with the elder Winchester was teetering on the brink, and he was content to wait for the inevitable.  His love for Dean would sustain him until Dean had resolved his inner turmoil and was ready to reciprocate wholeheartedly.

Which left them in a somewhat comedic setup – three humans, two of whom were violently in love and one in equally violent support of this love, raising the devil’s son on the outskirts of a tiny rural coast town.  It was bizarre enough to be surreal, considering the extraordinary people who were now attempting to do something as ordinary (but no less taxing and adventuresome) as raise a child.  In fact, considering that Sam and Dean still qualified as archangelic vessels and Jack was Nephilim, Castiel seemed to be the most mundanely human of them all.

Which brought him back to the issue at hand.  Castiel was mundanely, banally, _entirely_ human, with all the indignities that ensued, including a new and outright baffling experience. 

Castiel, in all his previous experiences as a human, had somehow managed to avoid the peculiar, ubiquitous, and downright _irritating_ sensation of hiccupping.

_Hic._

“This isn’t funny, Dean!”  Castiel growled menacingly, only to punctuate his declaration with another squeaking _hic!_ that sent Dean right back into the outright giggles that he had been attempting, purple-faced, to curtail.

Sam had taken Jack to town that day, because “he needs to meet people his own age” (“He’s nine weeks old, Sammy!”  “You know what I mean!”).  Dean and Castiel had been left to tend to the house.  Castiel had been on his hands and knees, attempting to remove a stubborn stain from the living room carpet and wishing he still had the power to _smite_ the damned thing off, while Dean had fussed about in the kitchen.  That had been fifteen minutes ago.

_Hic!_

Castiel had dropped the scrub brush at the first hitched squeak in a near panic and clutched at his throat, convinced that he was experiencing some serious respiratory malfunction.  Dean, who had burst through the doorway to find Castiel on the floor, clutching at his throat, had flown across the room and taken Castiel’s face into his hands, breathing his name in terror, before—

_Hic!_

They had both frozen.  Castiel had paled even further, while Dean’s jaw had dropped, and he had slowly lifted his hands from where they rested on Cas’s face.

“What is – _hic—_ happening?” Castiel had asked tremulously.  Dean had stared at him in awe, his hands shaking with leftover adrenaline.  His face, which had gone pale in his panic, was now flushed with relief.

“You—you have the hiccups, Cas, oh my god,” Dean had barely managed to choke out before pitching sideways onto the carpet, mercifully avoiding the stain, and dissolving into giggles and half-hearted exclamations of “you fuckin’ scared me half to death, you asshole!”

Now, fifteen minutes later, Castiel was still perched delicately on the carpet, glaring at Dean, who was seated cross-legged before him, attempting to yet again reign in his snickers.  So it had gone for the entire fifteen minutes, since every new _hic_ would increase a progressively more irritated Castiel’s resemblance to a grumpy kitten, which in turn would send Dean into yet another fit of near hysterics.

_Hic!_

“Dean!”

“Okay, okay!  Sorry, shutting up now!”  Dean wiped the tears from his eyes, and sighed, gazing across the scant two feet of space between them, the merriment still present in his eyes.

“How do I – _hic—_ make them stop?”  Dean nearly went cross-eyed in his attempts to subdue his laughter, and instead bundled himself up off the floor and extended his arm down to Castiel.

“C’mon, let’s get you some water.”  Castiel took his arm warily and began leveraging himself up off the floor, before letting out the loudest _HIC!_ yet, and—

Castiel lost his precarious balance with the force of the hiccup, pulling Dean down in a tangle of limbs and startled yelps.  The unruly heap settled with a series of grunts that eventually tapered off into oppressive silence and physical discomfort.

_Hic!_

The pile of limbs shuddered.

Castiel hesitantly opened eyes, then yelped and turned his head just in time to avoid being elbowed in the face as Dean’s arm crashed to the floor, leaving Dean’s face suspended a mere five inches above Castiel’s.

Blue eyes met green, snapping together with a magnetic pull, and held.

_Hic!_

Castiel’s body jolted below Dean’s, destabilizing Dean’s perch over Castiel and causing his arms to collapse further down, bringing his face ever closer.

Castiel stopped breathing.

Dean was now close enough to count the freckles across his nose, his entire body draped over Castiel’s, their legs tangled somewhere below, forgotten.  Castiel gazed upwards, lips parted slightly, and watched as Dean mirrored the action and blinked down at him slowly.  Castiel watched the flutter of Deans golden-brown eyelashes, mesmerized.

Dean’s eyes had been on Castiel’s mouth, but they now rose to meet his eyes once more.  Their gazes locked, and—and years may have gone by outside their sphere of awareness, the apocalypse may have finally come to pass, and neither would have noticed.  Castiel could have remained drifting in a jade sea for eons.  Neither seemed inclined to move, just quietly basking in the warmth of each other’s eyes.

Dean slowly released a breath, its heat searing across Castiel’s skin and ruffling his hair.  Castiel, still holding his breath, lifted his head slightly from the floor, eyes falling away from Dean’s and settling on his lips…and he waited.  His offer hovered silently between them; now it was for Dean to decide whether this would be their turning point.

One second, two…

Dean closed his eyes and slowly, slowly leaned down.

Lips, hot and sweet, pressed gently against Castiel’s.  He, too, allowed his eyes to fall shut before moving against Dean, slotting their lips together in a soft caress.  Slowly, slowly, they moved together, the kiss building in passion as it became increasingly clear that neither was about to withdraw.  Dean’s hands gently cupped Castiel’s face for the second time that day, the lightness of his touch belying the thirst with which he sucked at Castiel’s bottom lip and licked at the seam of his mouth.  Castiel lifted his arms from the floor and clutched one arm around Dean’s shoulders and dug the other into his hair with a fervor that elicited a gasp and a moan from the man above him.  Castiel nibbled lightly at Dean’s lips and sighed against him in bliss.  Again and again, their lips chased each other, each press seeming to hum, _finally._

Eventually, they were forced apart by the need for air, and they panted lightly, their breath colliding between them in little bursts.  Castiel’s lips curved up lazily, while Dean’s eyes were warm above him, crinkling at the corners in a sweet smile.  Castiel lifted a hand and brushed Dean’s hair from his forehead, and Dean nuzzled into the touch and kissed his palm.

Together, they breathed, allowing their chests to rise and fall against each other.  Castiel, still running his fingers through Dean’s hair, wondered at this very human need to interrupt such a pleasurable activity for something as essential as breathing.  Not that it was unpleasant to lie here beneath his love.

But speaking of being human…Castiel’s fingers stilled.  Dean, noticing the change, stiffened.

“What?”

“My…my hiccups.”

Dean blinked.

“They’re gone.”

Another blink, and then wide grin spread across Dean’s face like a sunrise.

“It’s ‘cause you were holding your breath, angel.”  Still grinning, he leaned down to kiss at Castiel’s pulse.  Castiel gasped beneath him and tightened his grip in Dean’s hair.

“Everyone knows,” Dean mumbled against his neck between kisses and bites that had Castiel squirming, still pinned beneath Dean’s body, “you can get rid of hiccups,” sucking hard at Castiel’s throat, “by holding your breath.”

“Clearly not everyone,” Castiel retorted primly, before “oh, _Dean._ ”

When a very confused Jack (an embarrassed and smug Sam on his heels) asked them what they were doing half an hour later, they still had not moved from the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> *small voice* also this was unbetaed so if you see any spelling or grammar errors, please let me know <3


End file.
